Today is the day. A man enters the store sending the outside breeze through my pink hair and down my backside. The gust feels strange and odd, but I hear a small child pleading with him. "Oh, Daddy!" she shrieks. "That's the one! Oh please, Daddy? She's perfect. She's so pretty, Daddy!""Today's your special day, and what my little angel wants, my little angel gets. How much for the unicorn in the window?" he asks the store owner.
Before I know it, I feel the warm embrace of ten small fingers at the end of two short arms. Today is the day. I will bring joy and happiness to my new family. I will keep my head held high with pride. The child loves me so much and I love her. I ride in the front seat in the lap of my new friend past other stores and bare front yards. Not one yard that we pass displays anything that resembles me. Today is the day.
The man pulls his vehicle off of the road and parks on a short driveway. I can hear the screams and shrieks of joy as soon as the little girl opens her door. We are swarmed with love and praise from a crowd of adoring children. "He's gorgeous! Look at her horn! It's fantastic. Can I hold him? I want to touch her!" The man pushes his way through the crowd of small people and takes me in his arms. The little girl reluctantly lets go but soon, after begins clapping and jumping with pure excitement.
The man walks over to a grand and mature looking oak tree and brushes out the tangles of my purple tail. He softly strokes the side of my tissue-papered body. I remain as still as ever. My insides shift with anxiety as he turns me over to look at my underside. "It's a girl!" he yells towards the adults and let's out a heartfelt laugh. I feel my emerald green, magenta, and vibrant orange braided ribbon tug against my papier-mâché back. He has made his selection for my display. I will hang proudly from the branches of the old oak and ward off unwanted visitors.
My stomach turns with emotion as I am hoisted up, up, up towards the perfectly laced oak branches, acorns, and brilliant blue sky beyond. The crowd of adults and children sink away from me and I begin to sway back and forth. Parents are visiting with each other and drinking red punch. Children are running and laughing. Directly below me, my new friend is clasping her hands against her heart and looking up at me. A boy is swinging an old wooden baseball bat with all of his might next to her. He bites his tongue and scrunches his face as he grips the stick with both hands and swings it back and forth with hostility. I am concerned for my friend, but an adult takes the little boy and tells him to practice a few steps over. The breeze feels so good as it makes its way through my cardboard chest that I don't care to wonder what he is practicing for.
Once the man has chosen my perfect height, he ties his end of my ribbon to a nearby chair. He then lines the children into a single file. My dear friend is first. First for what, I do not know. The man then undoes the tie from around his neck and ties it around the eyes of my friend. He steps her away from the line and slowly spins her in a circle three times. The other children clap and laugh as she stumbles through the third twirl. The little girl, uneasy on her feet, reaches out blindly with her perfect arms in search of something to grab a hold of. The man goes to the practicing boy, takes the bat, and hands it to his daughter.
Her knuckles lose their color as she grips the skinny end of the wooden bat. I feel the lurch of my ribbon being untied from the chair. The sudden movement causes me to sway back and forth from the old oak. Small leaves softly fall past my golden horn and my crystal blue eyes as my weight causes the branch above me to shake. The man eases his grip on my ribbon, I drop, and my insides race to my head. Just before I crash into the ground, he tightens his grip sending my weight to crash into the pit of my belly. Screams of laughter and cheers erupt from the line of children. I swing wildly about at the end of my braided ribbon. My new world is spinning around me. The driveway with the car slides through my line of sight followed by the old oak, followed by the line of children. The talking adults are next to race by and are again followed by the driveway.
I can feel a whoosh of angry air below me followed by "oohs" and "ahhs" as I slowly stop spinning and start unwinding in the other direction. The same sights, only in reverse. The gust of wind again below me and more groans of suspense. The driveway, the adults, the line of children, and the old oak increase in speed as my world is brought to an unsurpassed level of shaking. My white legs, that just hours before, were sturdy on a shelf are now above me and my vision is suffocated with pink hair. Gravity pulls my legs back towards the ground and my braided ribbon snaps me upright as the familiar whoosh returns; this time ending with a deep and sickening thud. The instant pain on the side of my once beautiful white neck spiderwebs across my tissue-papered flesh. I am in pure agony, but mostly, I am confused. My world is a consistent conglomerate of spinning colors and a constant hoisting up and dropping down. Then nothing.
There is a stillness about the air as my spinning comes to its conclusion. The images of the yard and neighborhood begin slowing down and coming into focus. Just as I gain consciousness of my surroundings, I realize that I'm not being lifted and dropped any more. I am just slightly above the ground. Where is my friend? I need the little girl now more than anything. I need to feel her warm hug and soothing words of encouragement.
There she is. The man is taking his tie from her face. She is still holding the stick. She looks up from the ground and makes eye contact with me. She is not how I remember her, though. Her gentle eyes have been replaced with possessed eyes of rage and determination. She clenches her teeth and thins her lips as she grips the wood handle with both hands. The man stands up and walks to the next child in line. As soon as he squats beside the little boy, my new friend makes a break for it. She runs directly towards me with both hands gripping the bat above her head.
At first there are no sounds except for her small feet pounding the ground as she runs. Then one by one, the children begin to realize what my friend is about to do. Their high-pitched yells only cause her to run faster. The barrel of the bat makes a full circle above her head before it meets my hide and sends me flying. I don't feel the pain until I start my descent towards the waiting girl, arms cocked back in preparation. The old wood meets my face and snaps my head back. I can feel the cold evening's air slip inside my now-exposed neck and fill my hollow stomach.
Another whoosh of hate-filled air and my rear left leg is sent flying to the car in the driveway. Plastic-covered candies bleed out of me and spray onlookers below. My world is spinning again as I take another blow to the face. My once spectacular horn caves into my forehead, forcing my head back and causes the opening in my neck to split even more. The bleeding from my leg slows only because I am now losing my insides through my neck. The last smack is all my tired, braided ribbon can handle. It lets go of my back and throws me across the yard. I am completely decapitated upon impact with the grassy earth and my remaining candies fly in every direction.
Children are running about collecting my insides. Some are filling paper bags and others are stuffing their mouths. My crushed-in skull lies facing my destroyed body. My world. This is not the world I spent so many days in the shop window dreaming of. My friend is not the friend I thought she was. The man is not the man I thought he was. Even the old oak is different. Today is the day.
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